Redemption
by Sorka Returns
Summary: Mad Lady Adellaine, scorned for most of her life, is forced to come to terms with her power to both quell a rebellion in her land and save the broken heart of the inconsolable itinerant mage, Briar Moss. Please comment, though I admit it's a downer!
1. Mage in Kenat

_This is a very different story than the one I meant to start. While I'm still working on "The Greater Circle," I wanted to do something a bit different. Something sad.  
  
I realize I'm quite vague on the details of everything like age and events, but I'll clear it up in later chapters if it's meant to be cleared up. If you have any complaints about Briar's character, just realize he's a bit changed. If you want an analogy, it's like seeing Ender Wiggin grown up, except I'm not Orson Scott Card. So you'd have to use your imagination.  
  
I hope you don't hold the lousy introduction chapter against me too badly. Please comment, I have the story entirely written in my head but I need inspiration and support._  
  
  
  
Briar Moss, itinerant mage, stood in the roaring crowd as a finely dressed procession rode through the main street. Had he any thoughts left for himself, he might have realized he stood out the throng of ragged peasants and day laborers, present only to harangue the current lord of Kenat.  
  
"Selfish pig of a lord!" a woman screamed, mouth open to show less teeth than Briar had fingers. She threw some form of rotten waste at the pageant, not the least bit inhibited by the strong warding spells placed around the group. The worst insults, he thought vaguely, were aimed at a fat old Bag with a wife younger than he was good for.  
  
Briar tried to wiggle his way through the crowd unsuccessfully. "What's going on?" he finally asked, once it was apparent that he would be unable to escape the crush of bodies.  
  
The farmer he had tapped gave the young mage a good once-over, then an apprehensive look. "I ain't no Bag," Briar told him, and the rough man visibly softened.  
  
"Take no offense from me, lad," the farmer told him. "Your'nt dressed like no noble, nor like no common hand, but you carry yourself like you got somewhere to go. That makes you different from the rest of us."  
  
Briar smiled slightly. "Ain't nowhere to go, not that I could right now." He didn't notice the farmer's glance stray to his tattooed hands, where the pattern of vines shifted eerily under his skin.  
  
The farmer elbowed a friend. "This here mage wants to know what's about." The friend, a character who sported the thick ears and callused knuckles of a fighter, grinned when he saw the young man. Briar's mind numbly registered the word "mage," but the second man had already energetically pumped his hand within a huge fist in greeting.  
  
"You don't seem like the rough lot," he commented, before Briar's glare tripped his tongue. "Lord Gerntyl here has himself a shortage. Namely, food."  
  
"And he'rnt doing nothing for his city!" the toothless woman screamed, overhearing. "All he cares about is his gods-cursed war." Her gnarled hand latched onto Briar's wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "But lad, you'll help us, won't ye?"  
  
The farmer, gently detaching the woman's fingers, looked up far more hesitantly. "You will, won't you?"  
  
Briar almost laughed helplessly, but stopped himself barely in time. "How could I possibly help? This chuff lord seems to have more ninnies around him than a king."  
  
The farmer leaned closer. "Because you're that boy, aren't you?"  
  
Briar's blood froze.  
  
The expression on his face must have been dreadful, because the burly farmer barely stood his ground before the slight young man. "I already told you I meant no offense," the farmer stammered, "but I reconnized your hands. We've all heard stories about you, you and those girls."  
  
A murmur ran through the crowd, and Briar suddenly found himself the focal point of four hundred people. "You called me a mage," Briar said quietly to the farmer.  
  
"And you are, aren't you?"  
  
A voice interrupted, remarkably cheerful after the dismal evaluation of their lord. "There's Mad Lady Ad!" The mob had turned back to the road to eye a young woman on a riding mare.  
  
She glared into the crowd, golden eyes glinting with irritation. As she and several younger children, astride chubby ponies, reached her father the Lord's gates, she suddenly winked out of sight and reappeared standing by her horse. An appreciative sigh ran through the crowd.  
  
A small boy tugged the bottom of Briar's tunic. "We don't like her da, but she always does something interesting like that when she passes through. So we call her Mad Lady Ad, 'cause she crazy."  
  
Briar smiled at the little boy, so clearly street like he had been at that age. "Why is this Ad girl crazy?"  
  
The boy looked at Briar disdainfully, with the wisdom of all his scant years. "Why you think? You seen what she done. If that ain't crazy, than what is it?"  
  
"Magic, obviously," Briar muttered.  
  
  
  
Briar almost couldn't believe it, even when he was seated at the Lord's table that night. He still had half-expected to be thrown out of the banquet when he brought up the topic the farmer had so endlessly drilled him on, but surprisingly enough, maybe his reputation intimidated even the stuffiest of Lords.  
  
Briar cleared his throat and tried to remember the grammar that Rosethorn and Lark had beaten into his head. "Lord Gerntyl, I hadn't expected to be recognized so far from my home." What home, he thought bitterly, but decided that, for the moment, technicalities weren't important.  
  
The fat Bag smiled, the sides of his mouth oily from the very large portion of roast he had been served only seconds ago. "But my dear mage," he said, apparently not noticing Briar's wince, "of course stories have reached my lands of the young students who took the magical community by storm."  
  
Lady Lida, the young wife, opened her mouth. "Such a terrible tragedy," she said sadly, until her husband glared a decree of silence from her.  
  
Briar's back felt like a board. "Yes," he said curtly. A chilly silence fell upon the meal, and he was glad of it.  
  
The Lord motioned to Briar with a piece of root speared on a fork. "About what you were speaking, young man," he said, mouth full, "I simply cannot spare funds from my war efforts, you know. I would have hoped my people could have understood this."  
  
"Even though they starve?" Briar pressed, wondering when this pompous cretin would have the nerve to toss him out of his castle on his rear end.  
  
The silly wife frowned absentmindedly. "Surely they do not starve. They still have their farms."  
  
Briar barely contained himself through the rest of the meal. Now that he knew nobles all weren't like Gerntyl, he found it even harder to tolerate the presence of imbeciles. Especially when his task had been to gain aid for the nice people he had met that afternoon.  
  
Sandry wouldn't have ruled like this, an inner voice told him, but he shoved it aside. Now wasn't the time to think about such things.  
  
  
  
Gerntyl had been generous enough to offer board for the night, but Briar had already decided to return to his room in the city. He needed some time alone.  
  
It had been bad enough, he thought, when the farmer Per had named him "mage." It had been unbearable when that vapid Lady Lida had mentioned what most people did not dare speak of in front of him.  
  
Briar still blamed himself. While Sandry lay dying of some fever, he had been rambling in the Detani rainforests without a care in the world. He, who hadn't sent a letter in months, hadn't even mentioned where they might find him if they needed him.  
  
And they had really needed him.  
  
He sat with his head in his hands, as he so often did at night when he couldn't sleep. Rosethorn was right, he was destroying himself. And he didn't really care anymore. He was sorry he couldn't help Per, and his friend, and the old woman, but he was too tired.  
  
He would leave Kenat in the morning, for a place where maybe- just maybe- there was no one who had heard of Winding Circle.  
  



	2. Departures

Second chapter. Thanks to Nona for commenting, I happen to love you very much right now.  
  
  
  
After dinner, Adellaine changed out of her afternoon dress and into her nightdress without a single interruption from her ladies-in-waiting. In fact, her women hadn't come close to her sleeping chambers since they had found her room empty five years ago. Her sudden reentry had sent two young women into well-bred hysterics.  
  
She wondered why her father had never before mentioned a famine. Then again, her father alone ate enough to put the tiny country into its purses.  
  
The air in the room stifled her. Her hand pulled a deep scarlet cloak from the wardrobe. "Out," she whispered. "I want out." An image of the castle grounds pulled seductively at her mind.  
  
Of course, nothing happened. Usually, the first few tries were fruitless. The most she could expect was fourth try, if she really wanted it. And today she wanted it badly. As if riding through the city wasn't bad enough, but her father had to invite some mage to dinner. She wished she could leave her rooms as easily as she could alight from her horse; then again, she probably didn't disdain her rooms half as much as she did the ignominious aid of a horse-handler.  
  
Del had seen mages before, met them. They all looked at her like a specimen in a glass jar, gave her father some vague demonic explanation, and left with his money. They all had the same eyes: cold, calculating and downright greedy.  
  
She opened her mouth to attempt her escape again, but suddenly her mind was flooded with an image of the young mage her family had met that afternoon. His eyes had been sad and distant, she remembered, and he hadn't sounded anything like the others. Perhaps his accent-  
  
And she disappeared.  
  
  
  
Several sleepless hours later, Briar lounged about the outside of the inn he was staying at. The innkeeper's son had tried several times to entice the mage back inside with promises of ale and good tales, but the boy soon gave up his plight sadly. Most mages were good stories in themselves, and this one was young enough that his life must have been interesting- at the very least.  
  
"Maybe tomorrow, Toma," Briar told the boy gently, though he had meant to be gone by the noon the next day. It wouldn't hurt to say that, Briar figured. "I'll take you up on that ale," he added with a grin, as the boy slipped back into the smoky room.  
  
He scuffed his shoe against the plain, dirty gray cobblestones. He'd do some magic in the next city, perhaps, since he had made such an impression in Kenat. Briar tried to limit himself to one magical working in each place he went. Because of his reputation he was always paid very well, and so far he had more than enough money to continue his travels without leaving such an obvious trail of small- and some not so small- magics along the way.  
  
After all, he had heard the Traders gossiping in Southern Beneq. It had almost surprised him that, after five years and a not-so-pleasant last meeting, Daja was still asking the network of Traders to track him down.  
  
"Maybe I really do need to sleep," he told himself ruefully, realizing he had been standing in reverie for over an hour. The night air was chilly for early autumn.  
  
As he turned back to the noisy inn, a quick movement caught the far corner of his eye. In an instant, one of his wrist-knives was in his hand as he spun toward the figure.  
  
Briar lowered his weapon when he realized the cloaked figure was entirely unaware of his presence. Instead, to his surprise, a feminine hand appeared from the folds of cloth and removed a small pad of paper and a stick of charcoal.  
  
"Blast," came a voice from inside the hood. "Now where have I taken myself?" The hand wrote a brief notation on the paper. "Second try. Not bad."  
  
The knife was back in its sheath; Briar leaned against the side of the inn with his arms crossed, clearing his throat loudly. He watched, amused, as the person whirled around, struggling with the heavy hood that masked her face.  
  
His slight smile disappeared as her face appeared quite clearly in the dim light of the inn. "And what are you doing here?" Briar demanded.  
  
Large amber eyes widened, then narrowed into slits as- what was her name?- regarded the mage. "None of your business," she snapped, turning away from him abruptly.  
  
"It's only my bees-nest," he drawled, "because this ain't such a good part of town for a young noble."  
  
"I take care of myself, mage!" She cursed, then began to take deep breaths. Briar recognized a makeshift calming ritual similar to the meditation his teachers had endlessly encouraged in his earlier years.  
  
Briar was just wondering when she would angrily wink out of sight when he realized she was muttering angrily to herself. Sharpening his ears, he plainly heard the word, "Out. Get me out. _Out_." He frowned. Was it possible she didn't have control over when she went?  
  
Mad Lady Ad- yes, that was her name- was so fiercely concentrating that she didn't even notice his approach until he had seized both her forearms with his hands. "What are you _doing_?" she said angrily, trying to throw his hands off unsuccessfully.  
  
"You won't get it done that way," he told her, ignoring her furious escape attempts. "Maybe you'll take yourself where you want, maybe you won't. And what if one day you end up somewhere and you can't get back home?"  
  
One more twist, and she was free. "Then," she said, hands flying to her hips, "at least I'd be far away from you."  
  
Gods, if Briar hadn't ever been reminded of Sandry when she stood like that. He half-expected to see blue eyes bearing down on him. Except she wasn't Sandry, he reminded himself cruelly.  
  
"You need training. And, obviously practice," he told the girl as she tried yet again to wink out of sight.  
  
"I don't want help. Especially not from you."  
  
"And_ I_ don't want to teach you!" he yelled, voice echoing through the alley. She started, but was silent at least. Maybe she knew a truth when she heard it. "One day, maybe you'll want a bit of reliability in your magic. And you won't have it unless you learn."  
  
"It's not magic," she protested. "You have to be a mage to have magic. I've just got a demon. Or something."  
  
He had to hurry, because his magic sight showed him tiny drifts of silver were beginning to form at the edges of her cloak. If he couldn't convince her now, she'd be gone very soon.  
  
Almost he wasn't quick enough. The sudden bloom of silver alerted him to her departure, and in a split second he had wrapped a vine of his magic around her ankle, effectively dragging her back next to him. She squawked and landed on the stones, hard.  
  
He pointed to the front step of the inn. "We have to talk." Wide eyed, she obeyed rather meekly. "What's your name?"  
  
Seating herself neatly on the dusty stones, she said caustically, "Mad Lady Ad, of course."  
  
Briar tapped one foot impatiently. If I ain't getting like Rosethorn by the minute, he told himself sheepishly. "That's _a _name, but not what I want. What do _you_ call _yourself_?"  
  
Gold-brown eyes met green, and the girl's posture visibly softened. "Adellaine. Del."  
  
"It's nice to meet you, Del." 


	3. Lessons and Confessions

_Hello again, third chapter. I'm quite sad because I only have one comment. Please help me massage my ego, improve my writing, and tell me what you think. _

_Also, Daja and Tris will appear in this story. Don't think this will be entire independent of them physically, though there will be some flashbacks. Like in this chapter. _

_I like Briar as a boy, and I hope this grown up version is also acceptable._ _As tragic as he is. _

Briar was absolutely astonished. "You kept a _log_?" he asked, staring at the pad of paper Del had handed him. There were pages and pages of neatly written rows, each stating the number of tries and her destination.  
  
"I thought I might as well write it down." She shrugged, sitting as she made a little grimace. "It almost made me feel like I knew what I was doing."  
  
He wondered what he had gotten himself into. Evvy hadn't been an idiot student, but he had at least felt that his system of magical organization had been an improvement on hers. Briar hadn't even thought of writing things down, and here Del had been keeping _notes_ for what looked like seven years.  
  
It had been bad enough that she had mastered the concepts behind meditation in the two weeks he had been living at the castle. Briar had been planning to use that time to figure out just what Del was doing when she magically transported herself.  
  
Del, fiddling with the piece of red yarn Briar had been teaching her to ward with, took one look at the expression on Briar's face and winced. "Am I doing this wrong?"  
  
He looked at her, startled, then realized he was scowling. "No, keep going. You're doing fine." Carefully, she drew a thin mist of her magic into the palm of her hand, allowing the cloud to stretch to a thin line and sink into the string.  
  
Briar, on the inside of the circle, sent a thick vine of magic toward the border of the ward. "Not bad," he told his student, who flushed slightly with pleasure. "I can't get my stuff through this one."  
  
She disarmed the magic as he taught her, winding the red yarn around her fingers and tucking it back into the pocket of her cloak. "Does that mean that I can start _going_ places again?" she asked, a plaintive note in her voice. "I don't like staying here all day without a little fun."  
  
Briar shook his head, ignoring the little glare he gained from his student. "Not yet. What if you're just thinking about a place, and you end up getting there? I mean, one day you could end up in Yanjing for all I know." Which is nothing, he reminded himself. He hadn't felt this clueless about Evvy's magic, at least once he had gotten the hang of it for a couple of weeks.  
  
"Never happened yet," Del muttered.  
  
"Not yet. But as we practice meditation and warding and small standard spells, you'll get better at your power. When we figure out how to start learning whatever it is you do, you might find it won't take you twelve tries to get to the cloth merchant's stall."  
  
"You had to bring _that_ one up."  
  
"Twelve is impressive."  
  
Del sighed. "Impressively shameful. But I'm _serious_," she continued. "I only figured out how to get places because I wanted to be far away from here."  
  
It was Briar's turn to sigh. "Fine. Go riding, or something. Just don't do your thing, or I'll be on your case so fast."  
  
"So fast, what?"  
  
"It was a threat."  
  
"There was nothing threatening about that," Del retorted, a slight drawl in her rather sarcastic voice. "Besides, maybe you haven't dealt with stuffy stupid nobles in a long time, because you forgot I need a chaperone."  
  
"So, go get one."  
  
"Briar!"  
  
He tapped one bare foot in frustration. "Fine! I'll go. Get your cloak, 'fore I change my mind."  
  
"If you, Master Briar, would kindly put on some shoes," Del said, quite formally, "I would be happy to don my cloak." She managed an unrepentant snicker as Briar looked down at his own feet in surprise.  
  
If he hadn't felt like such a chuff at the moment, maybe he would have laughed, too. The unfamiliar tickle was bubbling in his throat, at least, and he needed more than one good cough to fight it down. "Out in front, ten minutes," he told her, one side of his mouth twitching, before stepping out of Del's small private chamber where they held daily lessons. He hoped none of the servants would see him walking down the hall, barefoot; they didn't seem comfortable with a guest who would run around in real clothes instead of the frivolity Gerntyl's folk seemed to prefer.  
  
The room the fat Lord had given Briar was only a few doors down from Del's, and quite remarkably fine. Briar suspected this was a way Gerntyl was compensating for the comparative lack of payment Briar himself had demanded. After a good deal of spluttering, the fatty had simply given up, agreed to room and board and pay for his supplies. Including clothing, some of which Briar was now going to put on, so Del would not find the means to kill him.  
  
The old lord really must be used to overpaying his mages, Briar thought, as he pulled on a pair of boots that were made out of very fine leather. Maybe the custom here was to regularly skin clientele.  
  
But in the meantime, Briar had a fine, dark green embroidered tunic to wear, along with dark linen breeches and what was turning out to be _extremely_ comfortable boots. Maybe there were benefits to being a mage, after all. Briar hadn't dressed so fine since Sandry had organized his wardrobe.  
  
Of course, all of his animated thoughts froze there. As usual.  
  
Briar was still in a daze even after he and Del fetched their horses from a quivering stable hand; he hadn't even noticed the look Del had been giving him as they walked toward the gate.  
  
A hard hand painfully gripping his elbow brought him out of his reverie. "What," he asked unintelligibly, vaguely irritated by the distraction.  
  
"You," Del said, "have been standing by the entrance for fully a minute, eyes fixed blankly on your reins."  
  
Briar mentally shook himself from his fog, and turned to his horse. "Sorry," he said, mounting, as they nudged the gates open with their feet. "Sometimes I get ... distracted."  
  
The vexed expression on Del's face changed rapidly to one infinitely more compassionate. Briar wondered how much of his life's story she had heard.  
  
"What's his name?" she asked, drawing her tall mare closer to Briar's mount. "I know you brought him from farther south."  
  
Briar looked up at her, almost amused. "I'm not sure I remember his first one. The owner had names for all his horses, and I picked this one out not far from the Pebbled Sea."  
  
"Well, what do you call him?"  
  
"I don't think I've named him. It's just us on the road, after all, and I don't think he has a name for me."  
  
Del had resumed what Briar privately called her irritated face. "Why don't you come up with a name _now_?" she told him.  
  
"Does he have to have a name?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Just pick one."  
  
Briar rolled his eyes. "Fine. Horse."  
  
"Try harder."  
  
"Brownie."  
  
Del threw up her hands in frustration. "Fine, I'll pick. His name will be ... I don't know! You name your horse!"  
  
Briar let out a long sigh. "I did, twice, and you didn't like those." How come every conversation with Del eventually turned into an argument? He could see the small murmuring crowd that had gathered to watch as the two mages - plus a couple of wary guards- rode their horses into the street.  
  
What a pretty picture we make, as long as no one can hear us talking.  
  
  
  
He was sitting on a footstool, his head in his hands. He hadn't even made it in time for the funeral.  
  
Feet stopped in front of him, but he only flicked his eyes slightly upwards to see who had come.  
  
Daja had even found red boots. In fact, Briar didn't think he had seen her with even a handkerchief that wasn't in red, she was that deeply in mourning.  
  
She hadn't moved, and Briar didn't say anything. Minutes later she finally sighed. "I suppose Tris got at you."  
  
Briar was almost surprised at how bitter his laugh was. "How did you know?" The weathermage's words still rang though his head.  
  
"There was practically a trail of blood leading to your room. Not literally, of course, but you must know you're leaking magic everywhere. We all are, _saati_," she added.  
  
"I don't even understand what happened, no one would tell me. All I know is that-"He stopped speaking abruptly, practically choking on his words.  
  
Daja sat heavily on the chair next to him, an eye-smarting blur of red he could see even through his brimming eyes. "She was caught in a backfire of some magical experiment," she explained, struggling to keep her voice analytical. "Of course, Moonstream practically killed the worthless mage. I believe he's been disgraced and probably imprisoned. But Sandry became sick shortly after, and the healers weren't able to do it in time. They mostly blame themselves."  
  
Briar blinked. So that was why Dedicate Comfrey had burst into tears when he had spoken to her. "But- if she had been in Emelan at the time- then what was the delay?"  
  
Daja gave him a careful look, one he couldn't decipher. "She wouldn't let them put too much magic in her, right away. Her fever was largely magical, you know, and far more complicated than a natural illness. By the time she let them, they weren't able to do much to save her."  
  
"I don't understand," Briar said, fighting off helpless anger. "Why?"  
  
She wouldn't meet his eyes. "Because of the baby," she said, so quietly he almost couldn't hear her.  
  
Briar froze.  
  
  
  
But he didn't freeze, because he was sitting upright in bed, gasping. And he was aware that, in his almost conscious moment he had cried out to Sandry though his magic.  
  
Sitting alone in his room, Briar was acutely aware of the blank spot where Sandry had always been at the end of his magic, as much a part of himself as he was.  
  
A familiar pale shimmer at the corner of his eye made him scowl. It would be too embarrassing if Del showed up at this moment.  
  
So, of course, she had. It was practically a law of nature, in Briar's mind, that she would be present for his most private moment of grief and shame, simply because he wanted to be alone.  
  
"What are you doing here?" he growled, yanking himself from his covers and getting out of bed. At least standing, he was taller than Del, and he most likely needed as much advantage as he could muster.  
  
He could feel her glare in the darkness. "You're lucky, Briar, that we Kenati are not fond of gardens. Because it would have been far more trouble putting a landscape back to rights than a few rioting houseplants. When mine exploded, I knew enough to come here."  
  
So he had lost momentary control over his magic. Hopefully no one else had noticed.  
  
And something else clicked in his mind. "Del, I _told_ you not to use that magic yet."  
  
She shrugged, unrepentant. "I couldn't very well walk into your room. Servants gossip."  
  
Sighing, he sat in a backless chair and rubbed at his face. "I might as well ask, since you're here. How many tries?"  
  
"One." Could he detect just a bit of smugness in her voice?  
  
"Not bad," he admitted. Then again, during his last breakdown outside the inn, it had only taken her two tries. Maybe this detestable girl was just drawn to his pain. "Now go back to your room, young lady," he told her, trying to put as much of Rosethorn and Lark into his voice as possible.  
  
"I'm not that much younger." she replied. But, of course, she was. At seventeen, Del was seven years younger than Briar himself. Two years younger than Briar had been when Sandry – dare he even think the word? – died.  
  
When he was himself enough to look up at her, Del had already settled herself into a comfortable chair. The set of her face clearly indicated she wasn't going anywhere.  
  
And she didn't. They sat silently for about an hour, Briar obviously trying to bore her out of his room, and she stubbornly refusing. By the time he was about to give up, his eyes were so tired from lack of sleep that her dark edges were starting to blend into the shadows.  
  
"You should go back to sleep."  
  
"You should start living more than half a life," she replied.  
  
He was too startled not to meet her eyes, which bore into his like amber coals. "I'm right, you know," she told him, and he looked away.  
  
"How could I possibly-"he began. A stopped when a shudder ran though his body. "I don't even feel like myself anymore," Briar whispered. "Like I'm not Briar. Or anyone." He stopped speaking abruptly, and glared weakly at his student. "I don't know why I just said that."  
  
Del had a ready answer. "Because it's four in the morning, you're tired, your defenses are down, and,"she added almost shyly, "I'm offering to listen."  
  
"I'm your teacher. I'm not supposed to tell you things like this. I'm not supposed to be your friend, I'm to lay down rules and have authority and ... whatever else a teacher does." He didn't care at the moment, but everything could so easily be ruined.  
  
But, of course, she didn't care either. "I've never had a teacher or a friend. I don't know the difference, so it won't matter."  
  
Briar sighed; it was futile. He needed to talk- he had just never realized it before. And Del was not leaving. "She –Sandry, that is- used to barge into my room when I had nightmares. Just like you," he added waspishly, but Del only smiled wanly.  
  
"I'd hear the door creak open, and she'd float in with her light-stone we had made her. You'd never feel ashamed to have her see you wake up scared."  
  
Come to think of it, Del hadn't made him feel that way, either. Not that she'd done it in the same way Sandry would have. He looked at his student thoughtfully. "Is that enough sharing for now?" he asked her, but even Briar could hear the change in his own voice.  
  
Calmer. Calmer than he could have expected after thinking- and talking- about Sandry. And there was something else, but he didn't allow himself to think about it.  
  
"Yes," Del replied, seemingly satisfied. "Now go to sleep. If you will, I will. Fix my plant in the morning, and," she added, "anytime you ever need me, just let me know. As you can see, I am awake even at the oddest hours." Grinning, she blinked out before he could answer.


	4. Curiosity

_Thank you to the people who commented on the last chapter. I appreciate it greatly.  
  
A few author's comments.  
  
I'll work on the flashbacks, I realize now it was quite unclear.   
  
This is NOT Sandry/Briar (in the past, that is). It really isn't. You'll see, I promise. As much S/B stuff I've written in the past as both my current name and past name, I'm not certain that Briar would hook up with any of his "sisters." I just happen to advocate an S/B rather than a T/B pairing, which would be quite disastrous in my mind. Or a Daja/Briar scenario, which I actually haven't really seen.   
  
This chapter does a pretty good job of establishing the early relationship between Del and Briar. I'm kind of a bitch, so it was fairly easy to write their arguments. _

_  
_  
Maybe Briar wasn't as stupid of a teacher as he thought, though he personally felt two months was much too long to spend figuring out _basic_ concepts of your student's magic. "So when you disappear, you've been concentrating on an image of where you want to go?"   
  
Del frowned. "Usually. I just imagine myself there, really think about it, and then- I go."   
  
"When I saw you try to vanish outside the inn- remember that?"  
  
"Of course," she said, rather snappishly. "You pulled me back and I landed on my rear end. On cobblestones!"  
  
"Yes," Briar replied, smothering a small chuckle. "But what was really important," he told her, ignoring her menacing look, "was that I saw silver mist grow around you before I grabbed your leg with my magic."  
  
"Which means?"  
  
"I want to do a test. I'll go to my room, and you stay here. When I make your little plant start to wiggle, concentrate on coming here."  
  
"What do you expect to see?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet. Just try it."

  
  
Del waited until she saw the tiny plant quiver in its pot. Then she focused on Briar and his room, and felt the small jolt as her body reappeared on the thick rug he kept in front of the window. But to her surprise, she flew upwards and spun around several times as weird hooting rang out through the room.   
  
This had never happened before. What had gone wrong this time?  
  
Until Del realized that she was thrown over Briar's shoulder, and he was shouting in his own odd Pebbled Sea vernacular.   
  
"Put me down," she said through gritted teeth, and was immediately dumped onto a rather hard wooden bench. Ignoring developing bruises, Del jumped to her feet. "What is _wrong_ with you?"  
  
Briar stopped jumping around the room and landed in front of her in one agile bound of his long legs. "When you did your disappearing act in your room," he said, gasping for breath, "a _split second_ before you came, specks of magic formed in the spot you had chosen."  
  
"Which means?"  
  
"It means you send some of your magic to where you want to be, ahead of time," Briar told her impatiently.  
  
Del watched as her teacher barely contained his desire to bounce off the walls. "You mean my visualizations...?"  
  
"As vague as they are, yes." He stopped childishly twitching and strode over to her, gripping her shoulders. "You do realize how lucky you've been all this time, don't you?"  
  
Del thought she was going to fall over backwards. The sudden change in Briar was almost overwhelming; she didn't know it, but he had gone from carefree boy to imperious Niko in less than a second.   
  
"Do you?" he repeated furiously, and she realized she hadn't kept a single coherent thought in her head since the moment he touched her.   
  
Maybe if he'd just let go, she thought faintly, and batted at his hands. Movement helped bring her back to her senses, and she got in at least a few good solid swats before he yelped and let go.   
  
"That _hurt_," she told him, watching unrepentantly as he nursed his fingers.   
  
He glared at her over his fingers, which were being carefully inspected for injury. "I meant it to. I want you to understand how dangerous it is to continue jumping blindly into another place."  
  
"What do you mean?" Del asked dizzily as she backed slowly away from Briar. She desperately needed to sit before her legs gave way beneath her.   
  
She settled on a couch and to her dismay Briar followed, perching on the backrest of the cushioned sofa. "Well, what if you projected yourself somewhere else, and you brought yourself directly into an object?"  
  
"You mean, if you had moved that table over there where I materialized, and I didn't know it...?"  
  
"Exactly. What we have to figure out is how much your visualization affects your entry into the ... place you've chosen to go."   
  
He glared at her and Del shot him a look right back. "I don't tell myself to land next to your window," she informed him, crossing her arms. "I just think of the place in general."  
  
"But that makes it worse!" he shouted.   
  
"Why?"   
  
"Well, what if you come out midair?"  
  
"I haven't done that yet, have I?!"  
  
"Well, Miss Adellaine, how exactly do you know you won't?"   
  
A discreet knock on the door brought their screaming match to a quick end. "Lady Adellaine? Mage Briar Moss? Is everything all right?" The head male servant's voice was anxious.   
  
"It's fine!" they said together, and the man's footsteps retreated. But the interruption had already done its trick, and the two had to quell instantaneous hysterical laughter.   
  
"I've gone to places I've never seen before," Del said, once her voice was back under control. "I've never been to the Weary Falcon Inn before, but I arrived there intact."  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "But you didn't mean to end up there. I remember you saying so. In fact, you didn't even know where you were at first."  
  
"You had to bring that up."  
  
Briar grinned. "It fits so nicely with my previous argument about magical control. How could I not rub it in?"  
  
Del sighed gustily. "I didn't mean to go there," she told him. "I was trying to visualize the palace grounds."  
  
"How did you get to the Falcon?" he asked, curiously.   
  
Here Del paused and thought hard, remembering. She couldn't very well tell Briar that she had been thinking about his sad eyes when she disapparated. Of course, she hadn't been thinking about him _that_ way.  
  
And now, disgustingly, she found she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. _Those_ eyes, she told herself irritatingly. The ones that sent me to that pub in the first place, with the alley that smelled like old wet liquored-up dog. The very memory made her skin crawl.   
  
"I was thinking about mages," she said finally. "I had met a rather impressive series of quacks and minor magicians in the past few years, since my demons had begun to influence the willingness of many potential pig husbands." Del spat that last word out with a rather satisfied abhorrence. "I suppose my last thought was of you at dinner, and I was accidentally drawn to where you were lurking in the shadows."  
  
"Ah, but the fairer sex is always drawn to me," Briar said with a slight drawl.   
  
A very unladylike snort escaped from Del. "I imagine. It's a big wonder you're not tied down with a wife and forty children by now."   
  
Something ran across his face, and Del knew she had ruined the moment. She mentally slapped herself on the cheek; it was so rare for Briar to relax for such a long period of time, and thoughtless words had ended his temporary peace.  
  
Del opened her mouth to apologize, but Briar had already reached out his hand and tousled her loose hair beyond recognition. "Go on, we've been working on this all afternoon," he told her. "Change for dinner, I'll meet you out in, say, 20 minutes. And comb your hair."  
  
"Thanks," Del murmured, letting herself quietly out of his chambers.   
  
And only when she was in the hallway, door firmly closed, did Del allow herself to collapse against the wall. She would go mad, soon, she decided. I have to know what's going on.   
  
  
  
The maid backed nervously into a corner of the hallway as Del approached. "May I help you, Lady Adellaine?" she said, voice trembling.   
  
Del saw the woman's fear and smiled wryly. "I dropped a small potted plant near my windowsill," she lied. "I was wondering if you could help me sweep up some of the loose dirt."  
  
"Yes, my lady," the maid murmured, following Del to her inner chambers.   
  
The plant hadn't been dropped, of course. The dirt Del indicated had been on the floor since the day Briar exploded her pot with his first nightmare. She had, since then, hidden the mess with a small carpet and replaced the broken crockery. The wary women assigned to her rooms hadn't even noticed.  
  
Del attempted to chat with the young woman as she swept up the potting soil. She had specifically captured this maid because she attended to the whims of Del's stepmother and therefore had more access to gossip than the average scullery girl.   
  
The maid, whose name was Angella, was actually rather amiable for someone frightened by Del's mere presence. "I've only heard a little about Master Briar, my lady," she said, the soiled rug now rolled firmly under her arm. "What mostly goes around is the story of the dead Lady Sandrilene fa Toren."  
  
"Would- would you please tell me?" Del asked, knowing that the woman really had no choice. Del didn't mean to use her influence this way, but her curiosity had almost blinded her since that bizarre afternoon.   
  
The rug fell to the floor. "But my Lady, it's probably just gossip," poor Angella stuttered. "I don't even know how much is true."  
  
Del took a chance. "Please, sit." Angella nearly jumped three feet in the air. "Please. I'm merely curious about my new mage-Master, and gossip is the best source I have at this moment. I certainly can't ask him, can I?"   
  
Her smile was probably the key that opened Angella's trembling mouth. That, and the array of tea cakes set out on the low table.

  
  
Angella's expression was a mixture of confusion and rapture as Lady Adellaine offered to pour her a cup of tea. From the Lady's own hand. Into the Lady's own fine china teacup.   
  
"Well, my lady, it's quite a story," she began eagerly.


	5. Tales of Emelan

I'm sorry I haven't updated this story in a really long time. Here are my excuses:

1. My mom was sick. In fact, I had to drive her to the doctors, and I have already forgotten how to drive. (It's just like riding a bike. Oh wait, I forgot how to do that, too.)

2. I caught the cold from my mom.

3. I had a lot of trouble making this little confrontation as non-romanticized and non-romantic as possible, which was hard. In any other story I would possibly write, the hero and heroine would have dissolved in a passionate, slimy fit of disgusting kisses halfway through this chapter. But this isn't one of my usual fanfictions.

Anyway, as penance, I made this chapter extra long for your enjoyment.

------------------------------

When Briar was showed into a private office by an outrageously obsequious servant, Lord Gerntyl was ensconced behind the most enormous desk Briar had ever seen. Presumably, the man's girth and ego required the boost of an imposing façade of power. It must be hard to be a huge pile of lard and still feel good about yourself, thought Briar.

"Lord Gerntyl, you requested my presence?" Briar said, face perfectly blank.

The mound of dark brown velvet shifted. "Mage Briar Moss," it said, "it has come to my attention that certain excursions have been recently made to the city. My servants have seen you leave my castle on foot, and return from the Eastern quarter."

"Yes, Lord Gerntyl."

Briar's apparent obtuseness went unchecked by the lord. "Certain- er- security measures are necessary, due to conflicts with our neighbor Narol. Perhaps you see why it is essential to know the purpose of your visits to the city."

"My lord, the matter is simply the generous salary you have bestowed upon me as Lady Adellaine's instructor. I understand the less wealthy of the city are hard-pressed during times of war, and I hoped to ease the burden upon those I had the opportunity to meet before I came to your castle."

Gerntyl's face had reddened slightly at the mention of the poor. "If I may tell my security advisors that you are merely sowing your own money to the needy?"

"Yes, my Lord. You see, my sympathies are quite harmlessly biased. Before my fortunes changed, I, too, grew up on the streets."

"Ah, yes." The fat Lord managed to scoot his chair slightly away from his desk. "I had one more subject to discuss with you. My servants have informed me that my daughter Adellaine has, at present, locked herself in her rooms. Might you, Mage Briar Moss, know why she has done so?"

"Please, my Lord, call me Briar." You stinking pig of a father, who calls his own daughter _demon_, tells his other children to shun his wicked daughter for their own good, and only shows the slightest bit of interest when someone famous with a big name begins to call her _mage_-

A slight "ahem" alerted Briar to the fact that he had been silent for several long moments. At least he hadn't said his thoughts out loud.

"Perhaps, Lord Gerntyl," Briar said slowly, "my student has made inquiries of her own regarding certain rumors about myself."

"Which rumors would these be?"

Briar smiled grimly. "I'll find out when I talk to her, won't I?" A chuckle escaped from the lord; perhaps even Gerntyl had known Del long enough to appreciate the set look on Briar's face.

Gerntyl leaned back in his chair, the wood squeaking under his weight. "Of course, due to your prestige, I give you full benefit of the doubt concerning these stories, since usually less than half of what reaches Kenat is true."

More than slightly incensed, Briar was about to excuse himself when a dirt-covered messenger burst into the room. "My Lord!" the man gasped, thrusting a torn piece of paper at Gerntyl. Though he kept a straight face, Briar was shocked to see a thin line of dried blood marking the inside of the courier's arm. "Please, it's urgent! From General Wanden," he finished weakly, leaning feebly against the table.

"Thank you." A servant timidly appeared at the Lord's beckon. "Peale, bring food and water for this man. And a washbasin."

"My Lord." The servant disappeared in the direction of the kitchens.

"Mage Briar Moss," Gerntyl said, face smiling broadly over clenched teeth. "Just let me remind you not to make a habit of impregnating noble females."

Briar could have stabbed the Lord; however, he didn't fancy the unpalatable consequences such an action would undoubtedly bring. "I think, Lord Gerntyl, the gossips have given me far too much credit." Excusing himself with the bare minimum of formality, Briar quelled the murder in his heart and merely walked away.

------------

"_The story doesn't say, my Lady, where Briar Moss had come from. He appeared at Winding Circle Temple at the age of ten, along with three other young wizards: a weather witch, a smith-mage, and the famously dead Lady Sandrilene. I doubt there's anyone on the continent that hasn't heard of her, not with so many powerful mages working so hard to keep her alive, scrying their hearts out to find Mage Briar Moss before she died. He disappeared for months, you see, without even making an 'understanding' with the poor Lady. Even in her last days she called for him, her other two friends already at her side. Especially he should have been there, my Lady, after all the harm he'd done. When he did come home, he left almost as quickly as he returned, too, before her uncle the Duke could get his hands on him._

"_Imagine! Such a scandal when word came out that Lady Sandrilene, high noble she was, had been-"_

Not for the first time that day, Del banged her head into the surface of her dressing table to knock the maid's words out of her unobliging head. Briar was no doubt wondering where his student was hiding, since she had ignored various knocks on her door. As she had done since she had spoken to Angella.

Del wondered what Briar was doing with his sudden excess of free time. She hadn't thought about it before, but morning lessons, noon meals, and afternoon lessons had filled both their days since the plant-mage had set up residence in her father's castle. Shutting herself in her room all day was hideous, but even Del's need to leave was hampered by her Briar-spawned fear of apparating somewhere distasteful.

Adding to Del's wrath was the time of day; it was nighttime, which had always been the period in which Del was most inspired to disappear.

It always had been, Del reflected, since it was almost the only time of day when the perfect silence rang deafeningly in the ears until her own thoughts pushed the sound away. And she usually didn't like her own thoughts.

She especially hated these.

At times she would burn hot, and felt the need to rage around the confining room until she had slapped her emotions back into control. Whereupon she would burn cold, until once again fire consumed her. She wanted to punch Briar in the stomach; she wanted to cry; she wanted to break the mirror that was so mercilessly reflecting her own accusing eyes back at her.

Del's only conclusion, frustratingly enough, was that she was jealous. Which she had trouble mentally accepting, of course, but her speculations hadn't turned up any other solutions.

For example, she hadn't felt this way when her younger brothers and sisters had abandoned her to solitude after she had started performing her odd magical disappearing tricks. Or when her distantly loving mother died and was almost immediately replaced by a distantly disdaining stepmother. Or when the first cries of "Mad Lady Ad" had rang out from the crowd. None of these had the stomach-dropping effect of hearing that Lady Sandrilene had very nearly borne the child of Mage Briar Moss.

Of course he couldn't live more than half a life when one Lady Sandrilene had already taken his heart with her to the other world.

Still in her gown, Del perched on the window-seat in her sleeping chambers, the little plant ensconced next to her. Playing with the little silver bell she had tied to one large leaf of the plant, she tried to control the urge to scream, and only mostly succeeded.

"Not fair," she whispered bitterly to the nearly full moon, before she smiled at herself for using such a childish phrase.

Immature as it was, however, this really _wasn't_ fair. Del was tired of seeing Briar constantly struggle between enjoying himself and controlling what she knew now to be his relentless sorrow. If this exquisitely beautiful and powerful Lady Sandrilene was such a good friend, she would not have wanted him to live this way.

And while Del was no Lady Sandrilene, she didn't want that kind of future for Briar, either.

Not that Del felt her presence would ever be able to bring that much joy into her teacher's life. But the knowledge that he had loved _someone else_ enough to destroy his spirit when she died- somehow that made everything seem more hopeless. Though Del wasn't even sure what "everything" was.

The tiny bell jingled. Briar sometimes awoke from nightmares while Del was taking a catnap, and the bell effectively woke her when her plant trembled with the magic he briefly lost control over.

She wondered what he had been dreaming tonight. Of Lady Sandrilene?

"Have to face him sometime," Del murmured, and concentrated on an image of his sleeping chambers. "If I don't accidentally merge with an obliging piece of furniture, first."

Taking a deep breath, she took the jump.

------------

Briar waited patiently in his darkened room. He had asked the little miniature daisy to ring its charming little bell, which the daisy found quite amusing.

This was a dirty trick, he admitted, but sometimes he just didn't feel like the adult he was supposed to be- especially when it came to matters of Del.

Briar asked the daisy to jostle her bell again, but he shouldn't have bothered. The tell-tale sparkles of magic were already forming across the room.

When Del winked into sight in his room, he was standing less than four feet away, therefore effectively towering over her as planned.

She let out a little squeak and immediately jumped back. "What are you doing?" Del hissed. "You're supposed to be in bed, having your dratted nightmares!"

"And _you're_ supposed to be coming to lessons!"

Obviously, she couldn't argue with that logic. A very satisfied Briar watched as his student's mouth opened and then set itself into a tight, dissatisfied line. "Fine. I admit that."

"You're also not supposed to gossip about me with dim-witted maidservants who are easily bribed with a very, very small coin."

Del crossed her arms. "You did the bribing, I imagine."

"Of course."

Silence.

Briar, who knew Del was capable of spitefully keeping quiet for hours on end, sighed and gave in. "Did you find out what you wanted?" he asked her. "What was it like, hearing about my life as a lying scoundrel?"

His voice, meant to be lightly taunting, only sounded heavy and dead. Nonetheless, Del stepped backwards as if she had been slapped.

A wave of regret passed over Briar. Impulsively he moved forward; a mere step brought him face to face with the dark-haired girl. "Del, I-"he said, absolutely bewildered, reaching for her hand.

Reaching for her hand.

Lord Gerntyl's tacit threat flew into his brain- sentiments that, at the moment, Briar himself energetically seconded. No touching of _any_ kind, he warned his hand, fat man would just _love_ to string you up like a fish. But against his will it kept rising upwards to grab Del's upraised palm.

Of course, thanks to Del herself, all questions of hand-holding were immediately rendered academic.

While Briar was deep in thought with his conscience, her hand emerged from the shadows to plant itself firmly on his chest; to his surprise, it rather strongly pushed him backwards. And despite his street-trained sense of balance, he was shocked enough to stumble ungracefully into a chair.

When he had regained his balance, a chagrined Briar turned to his student with a self-deprecating grimace.

She glared at him, taking his expression as criticism of her action. "Okay, I shouldn't have pushed you. But you didn't have to expect me to _believe_ all the garbage people spread about under the pretense of story-telling."

"Well, then, if you _hadn't_ wanted to hear the sensational version after all, then why didn't you ask _me _in the first place?"

Del paused. "I suppose," she said slowly, "I didn't think very hard about that." Hearing Briar's soft snort, she pursed her lips. "You didn't have to trick me into coming here."

Admittedly, that was true, too, but of course Briar couldn't let Del end with the last word. "You didn't have to push me."

"I already _said_ that."

"To be entirely honest, I snuck around, too," Briar said somewhat sheepishly. "Only reason I found out you'd been making the rounds was that I went and asked about you."

"Why didn't you ask _me_ in the first place?" Del mimicked rather convincingly, but her mouth began to smile even before she finished speaking. "So I almost got away with it."

"Almost. And, by the way," Briar warned, "you don't get away with anything 'round me."

Del threw up her hands. "I don't know if I ever expected any less." She tried to settle into the seat of a couch, but the heavy backrest felt too much like a rock against her spine. "By the way, what _did_ you find out about me?"

Briar was busy knocking every single cushion and pillow in the room to the floor in front of the fireplace. He sat in the pile, and motioned for Del to join him. "That your fat father's an ass and you were a demon baby."

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks. Except _that_ story just came about after I started doing weird things. I only _really_ started using my magic when I was around ten or eleven. Which makes me only demon-possessed, not demon-born."

"I don't know," Briar said, teasingly. "I never could tell the difference between demons and ten-year-old girls. Believe me, I grew up with three particularly vigorous ones."

Briar's light words hung in the air between them like jewels as Del stared at him. "You almost never talk about them, not like that," she said, and his face carefully arranged itself into a blank expression. "Do you- do you miss them?"

Briar didn't answer her question, but his eyes obviously said _yes_. "We were close," he said, almost whispering.

She was incredibly curious, but Del managed to keep her voice low and mild. "Then how come you're all the way out here in Kenat?"

He blinked. "I swear, Del, didn't you ask your servants to tell you?"

Del's resolve to remain soothing broke. "And you just told me a few minutes ago that I should ask _you_. Besides, I don't believe what they say, you know," she told him.

Briar smiled crookedly. "Believe what? That I'm a cowardly scoundrel or a worthless friend?" The smile dropped off his face, and Briar turned a carefully blank face to his student. "At least believe the second one, if not the first."

"No," she said forcefully.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he stared upwards into her face, hidden by the tangled veil of dark hair. "And why not?" His voice sounded so dreadfully tired, even to himself.

Briar couldn't be sure in the half-light, but he thought Del's face was unnaturally flushed. "Because maybe I don't think you'd abandon your friends."

"But Del, even if the stories aren't all true, I really did."

"Then how _did_ you?" Del snapped.

"I wasn't there!" Briar almost shouted, letting himself fall backwards into the pillows. "Maybe I could have saved her. They tried, you know, we've done it before."

"What?" Del stared at Briar, who, half-buried in cushions had flung an arm over his face. "What do you mean, you've done it before?"

"Rosethorn. My teacher." One emerald eye opened underneath his arm to glare at Del. "She was a lot better at teaching than me, just to let you know. We were helping Winding Circle find the cure for this plague- we called it the Blue Pox."

"Epidemics," Del murmured with a shudder.

"Rosethorn caught it. The going got better once we found the cure, but she already had pneumonia and died. The four of us- me, Sandry, Tris, and Daja- kind of went in after her and pulled her back into her body.

"Ok, so I admit we had no clear idea what we did to save Rosethorn. But maybe if I had been there this second time around, we could've done it again, long enough to force Sandry into accepting healing magic. At least that's what I keep telling myself."

The words were beginning to come faster from his mouth, and Del leaned closer to hear his fading voice. She didn't dare speak lest her interference stop Briar's story.

"Daja and Tris had been keeping her in her body for nearly a month. They were so tired by the time she –she went, that they weren't able to grab her tightly enough. If I had been there, fresh, maybe we would have had enough strength between us to do it.

"But then, sometimes I tell myself that maybe we would have all died, instead. Tris and Daja have such strong wills to live, lots of things they want to do. All I had was Rosethorn and plants, and our Circle. I probably would have died before I let Sandry go, and then Tris and Daja would have been forced to try and stop me, and we'd all be dead."

She thought he had forgotten that she was there, but Briar's eyes suddenly refocused and went to her face. Grabbing her wrist with one sweat-dampened hand, he gripped it so hard she needed to grit her teeth to remain quiet. "Del, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to talk for so long. Go to sleep."

If he had been one of her younger brothers or sisters- though, of course, she hadn't been allowed contact with them for almost seven years- Del might have pulled Briar into her lap, sang him a long and silly song, and then firmly insisted he go to bed. Or if they had been gentle lovers in a romantic ballad, she would have put her arms around him and sang him sweet songs until his heart was at ease, or some swill like that. But since it was Briar...

"Oh, come off it," she said, managing to let a degree of impatience to leak into her voice. "You can't just send me to bed, you're not that much older than me. And don't apologize for talking too much, Master Briar Moss, please remember _I_ asked you to talk to me."

A little bit more of Briar crept back into his eyes. "Fine, your Royal Highness. I talk, if you command."

"I do command," Del told him, taking his sweaty hand in hers, ignoring the slipperiness of his skin.

He closed his eyes, though whether in pain or relief she couldn't tell. "Let me tell you about the Detani jungle."


End file.
